


Thunder in My Chest, Stuck in My Throat

by one_day_sooner



Series: Love tattoo [1]
Category: Band AU - Fandom, Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:14:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_day_sooner/pseuds/one_day_sooner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaner plays hockey, Johnny plays bass. AKA the rockabilly band AU where Johnny is relaxed and fun and Kaner is still mostly awful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunder in My Chest, Stuck in My Throat

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

Johnny grinned at the dark haired boy strapping a candy apple red Les Paul to his chest. When he looked up, he flashed a smile back, tossing a roll of bandages at the taller man before adjusting straps and checking his hair one more time. Johnny caught the roll deftly, wrapping a thin layer around the fresh tattoo on his wrist to keep his own sweat from getting all into the open area. "Thanks Dave," he murmured, watching his guitarist tug at his collar. A blonde woman, all curves and cherry lipstick wiggled by and pulled Johnny down, producing a comb from the neck of her dress and fixing his high pompadour a little before she smiled and stepped back, nodding her satisfaction. 

"Goin' red tonight, huh Frankie?" he asked, snapping a stray string off the hem of her fitted red dress and smoothing his big hands up her sides, circling her tiny waist with his fingers. "Davey's set to be out already. Mike is communing with his drum kit or something."

"Good to know Johnny baby. Where's Imelda?"

"I'm not ready to bring her out yet.  She'll be ready Frankie. Go bat those lashes at the bartender will ya? I want a whiskey."

"Nothing til after the show, or it's sent up darlin' and you know it.  Bring her out. She's gotta start warming up to the room." She walked away, her hips swaying and the seam of her stockings drawing Johnny's eyes higher until they disappeared under her dress. He shook his head at her and went to the back to take his chestnut bass out of the case and check her strings for the right tuning. Once she was ready, he took the upright onto the stage and set her down, leaning her against Davey's half stack. He looked over the crowd and gave a half smirk when he saw a handful of boys tumble in from apparently nowhere, led by a short, curly haired mess of a guy. His friends were slightly better looking, even if a pair of them were sticking close together and eyeing the girls in victory rolls and swing skirts like they'd murder the pair of them. 

"Yo Davey! You'd better get yourself ready for this. About six Blackhawks just walked in." Mike hooted, interrupting Johnny in his usual preshow scan. And yeah, now that he heard that, he connected the dots. The shorty in front was Patrick Kane. The scared looking pair of bodyguards were Brent Seabrook and Duncan Keith. Johnny had to laugh at how fast they backed away from a pair of ladies who smiled and winked, and were promptly picked up by guys in white shirts and cuffed blue jeans, and he turned back towards his band. 

"Whoa wait. CHICAGO Blackhawks? Hey Johnny, weren't you supposed to pl-?"

"Not now, Mikey baby," Frankie purred, her hand in the middle of Johnny's back like a comfort.  She slipped onto the stage and smiled at the crowd who began to cheer at the sight of her. "Well, hello babies. How're y'all holdin' up tonight?  As you maaaaaay know, I am Miss Frankie Stine, and these fine fellas are the Townspeople!" Here she blew a few kisses to the crowd and brought out the boys, introducing them one by one.  "Now, we're gonna play a few songs for you. Feel free to dance, drink, whatever y'all do, just make sure you're havin' fun and playin' nice. Hit it Mike!"

"Seriously a fucking rockabilly show?  I mean I know it's your idea of fun Sharpy, but this?" Patrick whined, staring as the middle of the floor filled with people dancing and girls being flipped every which way. 

"Firstly, my birthday. Secondly, Frankie Stine and the Townspeople come through almost every year for my birthday and we NEVER get to see them. Thirdly, I have the C so shut it."

"I have an A, so you can go fuck yourself, birthday or not." Patrick grumbled, signaling the bartender to come down their way. After a round of birthday cake vodka shots, Patrick decided to actually look at the band on stage. The singer had an almost feral growl in her voice, her full red lips parting around words an her eyes closing into a fan of thick lashes when she sang a high note. The guitarist was smaller than Patrick (probably, he thought. Either way I could take him) but full of energy, his smile wide as he looked over the crowd. The drummer was cool and collected, grinning to himself after a particularly zippy fill, and the bassist... Well. Patrick had never seen a stare like that, all dark eyes and intense focus, his hands moving along the neck of the instrument like he was willing it to sound more pure, more alive. 

Johnny looked up from the strings then, his eyes catching Patrick and pinning the other man under his gaze. His fingers were fast, plucking and slapping and for the briefest of moments, Patrick wondered what it would be like to let those hand roam his body, touching and stroking everywhere that his clothes hid. On impulse, Patrick turned to the bartender and asked for a round of drinks to be sent to the band, trying to figure out what to get them. 

"Johnny likes his whiskey neat," the bartender said with a smile when Patrick asked what they'd like. "Frankie loves German beer. Davey and Mike will drink just about anything virgin, because they aren't big on booze in general."

"Cool, great. A round of that then." Patrick pulled out his wallet and slid a credit card across the bar. "In fact, just start a tab. It's my buddy's birthday so we're gonna have a good time." 

The bartender nodded and fixed the drinks, sending them to the stage between songs. Johnny positively lit up when he accepted his drink, holding it up like the rest of his band in a thank you to the buyer before they knocked them back. Patrick stared at the way Johnny smiled and decided he wanted to see that smile a lot more. 

*****

The band was shutting down, Frankie now in a pair of cigarette pants and flats, her hair tied up in a tight ponytail, a bouncy cascade of curls falling from the end. Johnny had taken off his plaid shirt and left it on the amp as he packed his bass away, tossing a set of ties to the singer to wrap her cords up. Mike was standing next to a pile of cases, tapping his foot against the stage mindlessly but in time with Davey's humming as the guitarist unplugged his amps and began to move them. Patrick and Sharpy were still at the bar, talking just over the late night murmur of the guys and dolls still at the club. Duncs and Seabs had taken the tipsy rookies back to their homes, escaping before Shawsy could smile at someone that wasn't to be smiled at. 

"I wanted to thank you," Patrick heard someone say in a strange monotonous voice. "You know. For the drinks? We appreciate it. I appreciate it." 

Patrick turned and faced the bass player, the small smirk of a smile on Johnny's face bigger and brighter in his eyes. "I'm Johnny Towes. You ok there, bud? You look a little sauced." He laughed and clapped a hand on Patrick's shoulder. Patrick had heard that name, at least he thought he had, but shrugged and smiled back. 

"Patrick Kane. I'm pretty well on my way to fucked up, honestly. Captain's birthday and all." He nodded at Sharpy who was already on the phone with Abby. He looked Johnny over and something struck him hard about the colorful ink working up a strong arm, the hint of a tattoo right under his muscle shirt, the easy smile he had as he leaned against the bar. "Say, you uh...  You wanna get out of here? If your band doesn't need you that is."

Johnny smiled. "Actually, Frankie sent me over. Said I was damn near useless anyway.  But I'm driving, ok?  Don't want you to get us wrecked."

*****

They went through the door of Johnny's apartment, Johnny's hand in Patrick's back pocket and Kaner's slipping under the hem of his shirt, then all bets were off. Johnny pulled Kaner to him, bending down and kissing him fiercely, dragging out gasps and moans from the smaller man. He pinned Kaner to the wall, his eyes growing darker as he separated the buttons, biting over the pale chest and licking gently to soothe the skin. "How do you wanna do this?" Johnny asked softly, pausing to look into Patrick's eyes, even as his hand moved to the other's belt.

"I can't... I have practice tomorrow. Can I fuck you?" he breathed, closing his eyes tight as Johnny fitted his hand around Patrick's dick, squeezing just enough to let Patrick know he was on board. 

"Definitely. Just not in the hallway. C'mon. Bedroom's through here." He led the way, stripping his clothes off as he went and giving Patrick a great view of tattoos and his strong muscled back, a narrow waist and pretty much perfect ass. Patrick hurried after him, pouncing and pinning him to the bed after he kicked the door shut, their laughter and voices carrying through the hallway anyway. 

******

When Johnny woke up the next day, he was alone, his bed cold where Patrick had slept. There was a note in the dent on the pillow next to him in a sloppy scrawl. He raised an eyebrow and sat up to read it.

__

"Dear Johnny,

Sorry I had to leave. Coach would drag my ass over the coals if I didn't show up to practice today and I couldn't wake you up. No really. You're like a brick dude. I hope you don't mind I took down your name and address. There's gonna be a seat at tomorrow night's game for you if you want it. Just stop by Will Call. If they give you hell, just call me. I'll go down in full gear if I have to. 

XO,  
Kaner"

Johnny smiled a little at the message and grabbed his phone to add the number, only laughing a little when he saw Patrick had already entered it. 

He thought he could get used to that kind of guy. 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "Johnny Got a Boom Boom" by Imelda May which you should go listen to. Seriously. And that song led to the image of Johnny in a pompadour which is stupidly hot to me, so... Sorry for that?


End file.
